“Before we conclude,” the priest says, “we have a special treat. One of Tara’s dear friends will now immortalize this moment in song.”
This is not the cue J would have written, but it’s the cue he’s been given. Tara beams and actually waves as he walks up to the microphone and plugs in his guitar. Hugh keeps his hand on Tara’s back and tries his best not to grimace. J does not make any opening remarks this time. He just plunges into the song, which has a new, happier ending that the original version.
I’m calling from the last payphone in New York
After looking for quarters on the ground
I don’t have much time, I’ll cut it short
Since you’re probably hearing more static than sound
Can you hear the music from the subway doors
As it’s swooshing by our platform
They don’t stop at our stop anymore
Baby soon we’ll be
On the junkyard of history
About to be forgotten and obsolete
The world is picking up speed
At a pace that I can’t keep
But time stood still when you were here with me
Slowly we slide out of existence
Like trilobites, old satellites, and rotary phones
They stopped making upgrades for our systems
So listen
You and me
We are version 1.0
Baby we are telefax and paper maps
We’re Betamax. We’re personal ads
The incandescent light that shines through the cracks
Why don’t you meet me
On the junkyard of history
We’re about to be forgotten and obsolete
The world is picking up speed
At a pace that I can’t keep
But time stands still when you are here with me
